Eleanore bit back a chuckle as she heard Thalia break out into a string of curses for the tenth time in as many minutes. Her low, muttered swearing died down slowly, replaced by the clattering of tools. Eleanore knew better than to check on her friend, as the last time she had tried to draw out whatever was bothering her friend, the taciturn warden had shut her out completely and simply scowled down at the worktable in front of her. Eleanore instead chose to focus on her own task, focusing on the finely crafted replica of a human hand rested on her own workspace. This iteration was made out of rather plain steel and completely undecorated, a test model she didn’t have to worry about damaging. Which was good, as the process of animating the hand and testing its limits had so far involved a lot of trial, error, and damage.

She was treading new ground with this project, starting from scratch in a lot of ways. Most of her other automatons either had simple clamps to grip with, or had the tools of their trade built into them, and so far there had been no need for dexterous manipulators. It had been the simplest option at the time and after foraying into making a functioning hand out of steel and magic, Eleanore was confident a pincer remained the easiest solution. Getting the fingers to articulate, to give them enough strength to be useful but not so much they destroyed themselves, it was all a massive headache. Setting limits on how far the fingers could bend back, or curl closed, was a high priority. Her first simulacrum had self-destructed when instructed to close into a fist, as she had failed to account for the fact it had no way to detect when it was fully closed and had constricted itself into scrap metal.

One rather obvious rune later and the hand was able to tell when it was touching something, but would stop just as it touched it. Her test objects, a few bits of crockery and half a dozen eggs, kept slipping through its fingers and shattering on the workshop floor. Calibrating it to grip a little tighter meant it was crushing those same eggs in a spray off yolky gore. So on and so forth, until Eleanore was pulling her hair out at the roots. She couldn’t even look at her previous designs, the lot of them being designed for industrial work, not delicacy. The prospect of dedicating hours or days of time to fine tuning the minute details of her enchantments and runes until it operated like she wanted was unappealing, to say the least. She’d leave the work to an apprentice, if she trusted anyone well enough to have them take the role.

Despite her youth, her eccentric nature, Eleanore believed she understood at least a bit of how the world worked. Her automatons, and the cutting edge magic and metallurgy went into them, were incredibly valuable. The method of their construction was a constant target of corporate espionage, and more than half of her development and manufacturing time went into churning out failsafes that would trigger when the casings were breached, and false-positives to obfuscate any information might survive. It killed her to do that to her own creations, but it was better than her work falling into more nefarious hands than her own.

It was for those, admittedly somewhat paranoid, reasons she refused to take apprentices. She refused, even, to allow her parents into her workshop. Much to their frustration, the only person she allowed into the workshop was Thalia. An exception to her rule wasn’t based on anything logical, though she wouldn’t admit to anyone but herself. She doubted Thalia understood her work well enough to share it with anyone, even if she did so unintentionally. No, Thalia just had a way of making her feel at ease, a feeling would usually serve to help her be more productive.

Usually being the operative word, her focus once again being disrupted as Thalia erupted into another bout of swearing. Eleanore finally turned around and looked at Thalia, her back to her as she bent over her workspace. Even from her awkward angle Eleanore could see Thalia sucking on her index finger, nursing a painful pinch she’d received from the mechanism she was working with. Thalia was currently in charge of putting together the parts for another hand, just in case the one she was testing now had an unfortunate, suicidal, accident. Eleanore smiled lightly at Thalia’s frustrated scowl, which she could only see in profile, and decided she looked cute when she was upset.

“You’re not going to be any help like this.” Eleanore declared, walking over to Thalia and firmly but gently pulling the half-constructed metal hand from her grasp. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, or do you want me to guess?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.” Thalia murmured, tucking her hands under her arms defensively.

You still haven’t realized you cross your arms when you lie. You’re so dishonest. Eleanore thought to herself with a barely suppressed giggle.

Part of her was concerned, uncertain if it was okay for a Warden to have a tell like . She was sure Inquirer Reid, a man who was far more perceptive than most would assume, already knew about the habit. The few times she’d met the man she’d felt he was rather vocal about how things could change and improve. If he’d not said anything to Thalia, then she wouldn’t. Besides, she liked having an idea of when her friend was hiding something from her.

“Looks like I’m guessing then.” Eleanore chimed, her voice carrying a slightly singsong quality with it. “Hm, I think… you’re upset Inquirer Reid made you take more time off?”

Thalia’s frown lines grew deeper and her shoulders hunched higher, a clear sign Eleanore had hit the mark. The Inquirer had been less thrilled with Thalia returning home, and the almost magical reversions to the state of her home left him nearly crushed under the weight of his paranoia. He’d doubled the amount of time she’d had to take off to recover, and Thalia had shared the fact she’d heard rumors he was looking to replace her. It was blatantly obvious exactly what was bothering the Warden, which made it so much more amusing she tried to hide it.

“And you’re probably thinking you’d be more help out there investigating right now, rather than helping me put together these stupid little hands for my tests?”

“I never said that!” Thalia said defensively, guilt making her a bit too passionate.

“Don’t worry, I think they’re stupid too.” Eleanore teased. “Come on Thalia, I know you better than you think. Why are you trying to hide it from me?”

“Sorry Ellie, it’s just, I know I’m close to figuring something out with this whole Faerie Dust thing.” Thalia explained, frustrated.

“Of course you are sweetheart.” Eleanore said sarcastically, masking the pleasant little jolt she’d felt as Thalia called her by her nickname. "That's probably why someone tried to kill you.”

“First of all, no one tried to kill me.” Thalia protested. “They broke into my house and tore up the place, which might count as a threat. But then they fixed it, so I’m not even sure how to count that. Secondly, if I’m close to figuring this out, then it’s my job as a Warden to see it through.”

“I know it's more than a job to you,” Eleanore sighed with exasperation. “I just wish you’d be a little more careful.”

“I know.” Thalia said solemnly, slumped a little.

“Which is why I’ll go with you today as we do a little off the books looking around.” Eleanore offered. She knew she was feeding a bad habit here, but Thalia was going to be moody all day if nothing changed.

“I don’t know about taking you with me…” Thalia hesitated, though her eyes were alight with excitement.

“I guess you’ll just have to keep me safe.” Eleanore said, affecting a nasally, haughty tone elicited a small chuff of amusement from Thalia. “Besides, maybe it will give you a greater appreciation of how much the rest of us worry about you while you’re gallivanting about.”

Thalia hesitated, her expression worried. She gnawed at her bottom lip and drummed her fingers on her desk as she considered the offer. Eleanore knew she had her, eventually. The urge to get back to work would win out eventually, but she figured she could tack on one final blow to speed the process up.

“If you don’t take me with you I’ll tell Inquirer Reid.” Eleanore smiled wickedly.

“Tell him what?” Thalia exclaimed. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Haven’t done anything yet. It’s almost guaranteed you’ll try to slip away on your own at some point.“

Eleanore saw the guilty expression on Thalia’s face, but decided not to press the matter. Instead she stepped closer and patted her friend on the shoulder. With her other hand she gathered up the scrap and spare parts Thalia had been working with.

“Let’s get cleaned up and packed away and then we can go investigate to your heart’s content. I assume you have some leads?” Eleanore asked, hardly surprised as Thalia sprang up excitedly, her dejected slump already a distant memory as she began stashing tools in drawers and putting parts back in their bins.

Eleanore, slightly in awe of how quickly Thalia’s mood could change, turned back to the hand she was working with. It would take her a little time to undo her enchantments and to smudge out the temporary runes. It was inconvenient and time consuming to reapply them, but she kept very thorough notes so she wasn’t too concerned about losing any progress. It was better to spend an hour every morning setting everything back up than to have it stolen. Thalia thought she was paranoid of course, Eleanore could see her shaking her head incredulously out of the corner of her eye. Thalia hadn’t been there when she’d returned from a shopping trip to find all of her trash cans emptied, the contents taken in a wildly disturbing violation of her privacy.

“Something sticks out to me about each of my encounters at home are the chrysanthemums. They were meant to be a message of some kind.” Thalia mused, completely oblivious to Eleanore’s musings.

“I believe you’re right on count. There has to be some reason for leaving such an obvious message.” Eleanore agreed.

“I suppose the first step would be to hit the library, and then the Archives. See if we can’t rustle up some folktale or cultural connection. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how to investigate a flower.” Thalia admitted sheepishly.

“Aren’t you the officer of the law here? I feel like you should have a process for this.” Eleanore teased. Thalia opened her mouth as though she was going to offer a snippy retort but Eleanlore cut her off. “I would think, if one were to research a flower, one would start with a flower shop or perhaps a botanist.”

Thalia drifted into silence and mulled over what Eleanore said, which suited her just fine. She finished cleaning the model hand and deposited it into the cabinet beside her workspace. Dusting off her hands, Eleanore looked up to see Thalia regarding her intensely. Suddenly nervous, she double-checked her desk.

“What? I didn’t miss anything did I?” Eleanore asked, concerned.

“No, it's not . I was just thinking, you’re pretty brilliant.” Thalia smiled. “You don’t happen to know of any flower shops nearby do you?”

“Luckily for you, our butler’s niece runs a plant nursery not too far away.” Eleanore grinned.

“Really, Gerald’s niece? Let’s go talk to her!” Thalia was already moving to the door, leaving Eleanore scrambling to grab her keys before she trotted after her.

Paisley’s shop was quite literally just down the street, perfectly positioned where two districts met to allow her to offer her wares to both the nobility and wealthy merchant class, as well as the working middle class of Midburg. Her nursery was an expansive, sprawling thing, its courtyards shielded from birds by a cage of wrought iron bars were delicately shaped and decorated. She’d purchased it from Eleanore’s father for a pittance after a fire had torn through the factory that had sat on the lot previously.

In Eleanore’s opinion there was something eminently pleasing about talking to a professional about the field they were passionate about. Even if the field was completely foreign to her like - for instance - botany, the fiery passion lit Paisley’s eyes as she went over the history of the white chrysanthemum in Midburg was satisfying to see. Paisley greeted them warmly, a warm acquaintance if not a friend after many years of running into each other due to her uncle’s position as Eleanore’s family butler. Her nursery was fairly busy, busier than Eleanore expected, but she was happy to take time between assisting customers to help them, her endless stream of words interspersed with conversations directing customers to certain plants, or checking them out as they made their purchases.

Between the distractions she informed them that, prior to trade being opened with the Western Isles, white chrysanthemums hadn’t existed in their nation. Their people, therefore, had not developed any mythology or folklore around this particular flower, the trade with the Western Isles being a relatively recent development. The raiding from their fierce, seaborne neighbors had only abated around a hundred or so years ago after a particularly vicious plague gutted their economy and forced them to barter for their goods rather than take them by force.

On the other hand, while white chrysanthemums had little cultural identity among their people, they had tremendous cultural impact in the Isles. There they were believed to be one of the Flower Paths, the three roads leading to the gate of the afterlife. Each road consisted entirely of one kind of blooming flower, and the Chrysanthemum path was the one tread by human souls on their way to the next life. Chrysanthemums were therefore used in many funeral arrangements and memorials, and considered to be flowers of death. Eleanore’s mood quickly turned sour at the realization the flowers strewn about Thalia’s home were literal death threats, but the Warden didn’t seem to mind.

Thanking Paisley for her time and her insight, they left the building. Neither of them bought anything, Eleanore because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep a plant alive and Thalia because the Warden was the type to hardly notice houseplants. Paisley didn’t seem to mind though, the greenthumb eagerly returning to ‘tending to her babies,’ as she said. Eleanore turned from waving her last goodbyes and nearly ran into Thalia, who stood on the street with a pensive frown on her lips, her fingers playing with her hair idly as she thought.

“That was informative.” Eleanore said cheerily. “Where to next? We could still check the library and the Archives if you wanted to, but…” She trailed off.

“But it makes more sense to go talk to our local Islander population, and talking to the Islanders means going to the docks.” Thalia finished for her, eyeing Eleanore with concern.

“I’ve been to the docks before Thalia. Sure, they’re loud and dirty but that's not the end of the world.”

“They’re more dangerous than you might think.” Thalia warned. “More so the slums and neighborhoods in the area, where we’re going to find the people we actually need to talk to. It's not the best place to bring a wealthy, beautiful young lady. Hell, it’s not even a safe place for Wardens, honestly.”

“You’re not really wealthy, honey.” Eleanore deflected, abashed.

“Ellie, I really think-” Thalia began before she cut her off.

“Oh don’t you ‘Ellie’ me with those doe eyes!” Eleanore cried, striding forward and grabbing her friend by the wrist as she dragged her towards the docks. “Don’t make me go get Inquirer Reid and tell him what you’re up to.”

“Alright, alright!” Thalia caved, laughing. “You’re coming with me. But, one last thing before we go.”

“What is it?” Eleanore put her hands on her hips, attempting to give Thalia a stern look brooked no argument. meant she was completely defenseless and entirely surprised when Thalia licked her thumb and brought it to Eleanore’s face, dragging it across her cheek before Eleanore could react.

“You had a little bit of potting soil on your face somehow. Don’t worry, I got it.” Thalia grinned impishly as Eleanore felt herself flush red.

“Oh, get on with it you little gremlin.” Eleanore scowled, swatting at Thalia’s retreating form in a fit of pique. The Warden laughed uproariously as she scampered away, leaving Eleanore pawing at her cheek in consternation.

***

Eleanore walked beside Thalia, trying her hardest to appear cool, calm, and collected. She’d been full of confidence outside the plant nursery, however now they had entered the slums she found herself aching to be joined with Thalia at the hip, huddled next to her suddenly far more composed and confident friend. Thalia was used to wearing trousers and a shirt out in public as part of her career, but Eleanore hadn’t been in public in a pair of pants before. She felt oddly exposed, like she could physically feel the eyes on her as they walked down the street.

She hoped her mother’s web of informants didn’t reach as far as the slums, or she’d find herself coming home to a tongue lashing. Eleanore’s mother had always insisted when she was in public she wore the finest of dresses, of the most modern fashion, and a full accoutrement of accessories and makeup. Her mother fondly referred to it as ‘a lady’s battle rattle’ and would be absolutely livid Eleanore had left home without it. thought in mind, Eleanore ducked her head and pulled her cap down around her ears, hoping no one recognized her.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Thalia, of course, was completely unbothered by Eleanore’s plight. The Warden was reluctant to wear formal dress even to the most solemn ceremonies, and frankly looked like a fish out of water in a dress. Eleanore couldn’t help but feel put out that her friend didn’t feel as scandalized as she did, upset as she was with herself for feeling that way. She banished a flash of resentment with a sharp exhalation, turning her attention to surveying the immediate area.

The area was far nicer than she expected, almost as though the locals worked to spite the ‘slum’ label the city had burdened them with. The buildings were aged and worn, bordering on decrepitude through sheer age more than anything else. These streets were among the oldest in Midburg, a city built upon the water and grown by trade routes coming in from the sea. Wealth and care maintained the centralized government buildings just a few blocks away, but the wealthy who had built their fortune on the docks moved to more pleasant biomes as the scent of the polluted wharf and the plants processes the fish brought in every evening pervaded the slums.

The poor, the disaffected, and the criminal moved into abandoned homes and estates under the cover of the wealthy’s exodus and the miasma of rotted fish meat. Almost none had legal right to live there, but the dense tangle of tightly wound alleys and streets among crowding buildings in addition to the poor recordkeeping of early deeds and titles meant any effort to clean out the slums was stillborn in the Warden’s headquarters. Still, despite the unsavory elements calling it home there was relatively little in the way of litter or gutter grime and citizens shuffled down the street at a relaxed pace which indicated how safe they felt. All told, it was not at all like what she had been told by other well-to-do ladies and gentleman at the soirees her family hosted. She mentioned as much to Thalia, who nodded.

“Well first off, there’s far more empty houses out this way than people, so it's not as crowded as you’d think. A generation or so a plague came through, carried by a ship from a city north along the coast.” Thalia explained, Eleanore listening raptly. “The Isle has just managed to quell their plague, but the measures to prevent an outbreak were still in place. The king at the time was able to quarantine the district but the docks suffered a lot of losses, and the population still hasn’t recovered to what it was.”

“You make it sound like it was a different sickness than the one ravaged the Isles.” Eleanore stated, question implicit.

“It was. An entirely different set of symptoms seemed to come from the tribes of the northern hinterlands.”

Eleanore was shocked, the likelihood of two plagues hitting nearly simultaneously to each other seeming incredibly unlikely. Relegating it to a historical curiosity to be researched later, she continued the other half of the conversation.

“Given the situation, shouldn’t this district be much worse off?

“Well,” Thalia hedged. “The people here, they don’t much like Wardens, or any government interference. There’s still resentment for the quarantine, a lot of people feel like they were left to die.”

“And?” Eleanore asked, unable to see where this was going.

“And they endeavor to make it a place the government doesn’t have to go. They maintain their own order here, almost like a smaller city inside our own.”

“So like all great anti-establishment groups they maintain their distance by cleaning the litter and painting their homes?” Eleanore asked skeptically.

“Anything too egregious and they risk the city council or the mayor taking notice. Obvious filth, poverty, illness, and crime would attract the Wardens. They keep it clean and neat here so they can go about their business without involving us.”

“You say business,” Elanore narrowed her eyes. “I’m assuming their industry is of an illicit nature?”

“Probably.” Thalia answered honestly. “But with no evidence and no one reporting it the Warden’s aren’t getting involved. Speaking of how unwelcome Warden’s are, let’s stop dawdling and get to looking. “

“What are we actually looking for?”

“Dust addicts and people of Western Isle descent, I suppose.”

Eleanore wasn’t all too sure she could tell the difference between a Dust addict and a normal, non-Dust addict, but she kept her doubts to herself. She’d just point them out to Thalia until she was right, and then she’d know what they were like for future reference. She and Thalia had little to show for their investigations so far, few people being willing to even speak with them. Those who did had little to say as they gave terse, one word answers before excusing themselves as politely as possible. Thalia had just managed to corner another Islander when Eleanore turned and saw the Dust addict.

It was immediately evident, even to her untrained eye, the Dust had its claws deep in the poor creature. His pale skin and unkempt hair framed eyes were shot through with pitch black streaks, originating from his pupil and shooting out around the back of his eyes, in which colorful sparks twinkled merrily. Chapped and split lips oozed blood into a rictus grin as he stumbled unseeingly into walls and tripped over his own feet. Beyond the immediate symptoms, Eleanore somehow got the sense the man was somewhat ethereal, like he might just vanish into the next shadow or move twenty paces down the street in the time it took her to blink.

Eleanore reached out without taking her eyes off the man, poking Thalia in her side. Her Warden friend was distracted by the Islander, an old biddy who rattled off heavily accented words so fast and aggressively the poor warden had trouble keeping up. Feeling Eleanore’s hand tugging at her clothes Thalia dismissed the crone, turning around to see the withered man stumbling past them. Thalia shook her head and pulled Eleanore closer to her, away from the man. Feeling Eleanore’s questioning gaze, Thalia explained.

“We wouldn’t get anything useful from him. He's so high right now he probably doesn’t remember his own name.” Thalia said, her voice soft and sad.

“Are they all like that?” Eleanore whispered, shuddering at the image of the stained yellow teeth smeared with blood, that horrible forced smile.

“No, he was one of the better ones. At least, for how dosed up he was.

“What?” Eleanore gasped.

“He was stuck in a blissful dream, or perhaps caught in the midst of some hilarity. Sometimes the things they see, hear, or feel can be very sad, or terrifying, or inspire fits of rage. Anything, really.”

“I see why you guys are so eager to get to the root of this.” Eleanore admitted in a whisper.

She shuddered and looked down the street where the wan, wasting figure had finally vanished from sight. Even though she no longer saw him she could still envision him, stumbling, tripping, and bouncing off of walls as he floated through the streets. If he was a good case then she could only imagine how disturbing and dangerous the bad ones could be. It was little wonder the Wardens had established an entire taskforce to root out the source of this infection. She was pulled from her dark thoughts by Thalia’s grunt of frustration.

She knew she was stating the obvious, but something told her a little kick in the pants would go a long way with Thalia. The Warden bit her lip and scrunched her eyebrows together, thinking. Eleanore watched her friend with an expectant gaze as she lined up her thoughts. Thalia wasn’t known for her intellect, though she wasn’t stupid either. The Warden truly shined, however, when it came to intuition, to pattern recognition and leaps of logic. Eleanore wasn’t disappointed as after a few minutes of terse silence a look of realization dawned on Thalia’s face.

“They don’t grow here, do they? The flowers.”

“White chrysanthemums? No, Paisley mentioned she’d had a hard time sourcing seeds.”

“And no one else sells them?” Thalia asked excitedly.

“No, there’s not exactly an abundance of florists. Paisley knows them all personally, so she’d have known what her competition sold.”

“Then what do the Islanders who live here do for funerals then? It's a fortnight either way, and that's considering if the ship knows they need to bring the flowers.” Thalia explained eagerly. “They’d wilt by the time they got here!”

“So? Maybe they use a local replacement?” Eleanore argued, more for the sake of discussion than true belief.

“For something as important as their funeral rites?” Thalia arched an eyebrow. “They’re way too invested in their culture for .”

“That still leaves us at a dead end. We have no idea where the Islanders would get them, even if they were using them for funerals.”

“Actually, I might have an idea about .” Thalia grinned.

Thalia grabbed her wrist and took off into a jog, pulling Eleanore along behind her. They pushed deeper into the slums, where the tangle seemed to condense upon itself until the buildings leaned against each other like drunken comrades carrying each other home in the early hours of the morning. Eleanore, poor, studious Eleanore, spent the vast majority of her time either socializing at tea parties and soirees, or bent over her desk tinkering away at some new device. These hobbies lent themselves poorly to running down the city streets, and it wasn’t long before she was gasping for air. She was eminently grateful when their pace slowed, the looming rooftops breaking apart to reveal blue sky.

Thalia let her wrist go and Eleanore immediately stooped over, putting her hands on her knees as she took in great heaving breaths. She was surprised to see, upon taking stock of the situation, they were standing at the edge of what looked like a small farm. Upon further thought, it was likely the space had once been something like a park but it had since been converted into a public garden in the truest sense. Plots of land had been set aside to grow tomatoes, cabbages, carrots, and other crops. A corner had been converted into a ramshackle chicken coop, several teenagers shoveling waste out of the coop into a waiting wheelbarrow while under the supervision of an older gentleman who was hunched with the weight of years.

She could feel the sullen, smoldering gaze of the people here and she was only caught in the periphery of their animosity. Every eye here was pinned directly on Thalia, her uniform blatantly declaring her as a Warden, as the legal representation of the authority they resented. Thalia strode forward, completely unperturbed by her lukewarm reception. Eleanore trotted after her, keeping her gaze on the path in front of her. While she walked she centered herself by considering how her work could impact the people here. An automaton to plow the fields? To harvest the crops? One to shovel out the coop, or to collect the eggs? Could she make one with the adaptability to repair their homes? was one of the reasons she even bothered fiddling with the simulacrum of a hand. Specialized tools were too expensive to build for every task, especially by herself. Creating a general use model could pick up the same tools as a person would expand their usefulness a dozen times over.

Her focus was disrupted as Thalia came to a sudden stop, Eleanore nearly running into her back. She looked at Thalia as her friend let out a small whoop of triumph. Following her gaze, Eleanore was shocked to see a small patch of flowers, or what used to be a patch of flowers. A small fraction of the poofy white blossoms remained upright, though even those were missing petals or featured bent and twisted stems. The majority of the patch was churned up soil and shredded vegetation, a few scattered petals the only evidence the few chrysanthemums remaining were merely the survivors of some sort of disaster.

“I don’ recall calling the Wardens, an’ I don’ think they ought come out this way if’n I did.” A voice snapped out, its timbre not unlike the creaking of wooden beams sagging under their own weight.

The pair of them turned to address the newcomer, finding themselves staring down the business end of an old, splintered cane. At the far end of its length were the steely gray eyes of an Islander, her form diminutive with age. Supporting her was a boy, an adolescent, though by the look in his eyes you’d think him a man of many years. He regarded them warily, and subtly tried to interpose himself between them and the old woman. Thalia gave the boy a warm smile, which seemed to only serve to foment further distrust as he gripped the woman’s clothes tighter.

“My apologies ma’am, but would you happen to know who ruined your flower garden?” Thalia asked kindly.

“If I know, I darn sure woul’ not tell you.” The woman said archly. An awkward silence stretched between them.

“What is this place?” Eleanore asked, more to breach the silence than anything.

“A farm.” The boy mumbled, glaring.

“Whose farm?” Eleanore stifled her irritation. She was trespassing in his place, it was only right she be polite.

“It’s our farm. We work the lan’, an’ everyone gets a piece of wha’ comes out.” The woman stated flatly, as though she was daring Eleanore to say something about it. “Nothin’ here is of any concern to you’s, so how about you shove off back where ya came from?”

“I’m sorry for intruding upon you ma’am, but I think I know where your flowers went.”

The woman arched her brow, and though she was reluctant she followed Thalia a bit further into the plot, away from prying ears. The woman urged the boy to stay behind with a gesture, hobbling away on her cane. Eleanore and the boy stared at each other, the lad clearly dissatisfied with her presence.

“Hello, my name is Eleanore. What’s yours?” It came out stilted and awkward, but it was the best she could do.

“Are you talking about my real name, or the name I have for people like you?” He scowled.

“I-I wasn’t aware there was a difference? I’d prefer your real name, if possible?” Eleanore asked, feeling a little out of her depth.

“My name is Rjalf, but the people like you call me Stephen.”

“Is it alright if I call you Rjalf, or is that rude?”

He was taken aback by this, the question new and foreign to him. He considered it for a time, lips pursed in thought. Just as he was about to answer, a harsh exclamation from the street caught his attention. Both of them turned in response to the sound to see two men standing on the road. One was native to Midburg, his form tall and lanky. The other was a squat, portly man, his features lit with hardly restrained fury was clear even from where Eleanore stood. The boy swallowed nervously and balled his tiny hands into fists, the skin around his knuckles going pale with the tension. He took a hesitant step towards the street before looking back to the old woman he’d arrived with.

“Mama Bo, my pa’s here!” He cried. The woman and Thalia broke from their conversation to look at the boy, Thalia’s gaze going to his father. Upon seeing him her eyes hardened, shards of flint sparkled dangerously in their sockets.

“You can call me Rjalf, lady.” He clarified quickly, almost like he was afraid she’d hear it, before running off.

He ran up to the pair, to the chubby man who was clearly his father, and an Islander. The man cuffed Rjalf across the head as soon as he was within reach. Snagging him by his ear he pulled the child away even as his youthful voice let out cries of pain. The workers cleaning the coop and harvesting the crops ignored the exchange, hardly favored either of the men with a glance. Those looks they did give them were almost as unpleasant as the looks Thalia received. Their malice was split as Thalia returned to Eleanore’s side, her focus singularly directed at the two men who were already about to vanish from sight.

“Did she have any leads for you?” Eleanore asked, sighing as she was once again forced to keep up with Thalia as she jogged out of the park.

“No, she had no idea who could have done it, though she helpfully confirmed for me leaving the flowers in my home was essentially a death threat.” Thalia laughed mirthlessly.

“So what are we rushing for now?” Eleanore wondered even as they rounded the corner and began to trail behind the men, using the shadows to hide them where they could.

“I recognize those men.” Thalia said. “I’m pretty sure I stopped them a while back for smuggling something into the city.”

“So not related to the Faerie Dust investigation?” Eleanore asked, causing Thalia to bite her bottom lip.

“I’m not sure. They’re clearly users, the both of them.” Thalia admitted, though she didn’t let up in her pursuit.

They followed the men at a distance, making sure to draw little attention to themselves. It hardly mattered, as the two men were locked in conversation, the short, chubby one only breaking from it to yell at his son or to strike him with the back of his hand. The boy, Rjalf, hardly looked up from the ground, keeping his gaze low and his hands down to prevent showing anything that could even vaguely look like defiance. The few times he didn’t he was rewarded with brutality, and Eleanore completely understood his reluctance to draw more attention to himself. This also meant he failed to look behind them and see the Warden and Eleanore skulking around.

“Are you going to arrest him?” Eleanore asked, despairing at seeing the boy being so mistreated.

“I can’t exactly detain him while I’m supposed to be on vacation.” Thalia explained. “Even if I did, Reid would have my ass.”

“I’d have your what?” A soft voice called from beside the two women, prompting the both of them to jump in fright, turning sharply to address the source of the voice.

Standing there, in uniform, was Inquirer Reid. The cane-wielding Inquirer was flanked by two senior Wardens. All three of them had narrowed eyes and an aggrieved tilt to the curve of their lips. Eleanore could hear Thalia swallow nervously, her throat bobbing as it caught on the lump of tension caught in it. Thalia managed to snap out a salute, her hands steady and expression placid even as her knees quivered and shook.

“Inquirer Reid! My apologies sir, I didn’t see you there.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t want you to see me anyways.” Reid replied dryly.

“What can I do for you sir?” Thalia asked, studiously avoiding meeting Inquirer Reid’s eyes while simultaneously striving to not appear as rude or inattentive.

“I was just checking up on you.” Inquirer Reid smiled, a gentle thing marred by the frothing intensity in his eyes. “I received a message from Eleanore’s mother asking to find the two of you. Apparently a friend of hers saw one of my Wardens leading her daughter to the docks.”

Eleanore flinched, resisting the urge to swear under her breath. It was silly for her to feel like she’d jinxed them by worrying about being caught. Her mother had friends and informants all over the city so it was only a matter of time before someone saw them.

“We’re just going out on the town sir, no harm in it.” Thalia lied through her teeth, her eyes fluttering about as they ran from Reid’s glaring counterparts.

“Ah, so it was just an outing? A play date?” Inquirer Reid rasped.

“Yessir, having fun with a friend sir.” Thalia licked her lips.

“And those two men you’re following, are they friends of yours? A double date, perhaps?” Reid asked, pressing the attack. Thalia remained silent, unwilling or unable to provide an excuse. “If I went and spoke with them would they recognize you? They wouldn’t show any symptoms of extended Dust use?”

“Hypothetically speaking, sir, if you were to ask them if they recognized me they may very well say yes.” Thalia said innocently, her gall leaving Eleanore unable to stifle a chuckle. A chuckle died quickly when Inquirer Reid’s flat eyes glanced her way momentarily.

“Most people would be happy to have some time off, Thalia.” Reid said, words grating out through clenched teeth. “Especially after what you went through.”

“Yes sir.” Thalia swallowed again.

“Most people would leave their friends behind if they were going to go on an illicit, dangerous, and off-the-books investigation into the shady part of town.”

“Mr. Reid, sir! She didn’t have a choice.” Eleanore interjected, blabbering nervously. “I threatened to tell on her, sir.”

“Who were you going to tattle to?” Inquirer Reid asked.

“Uh, you, sir.” Eleanore said, her mouth sticky and dry with nerves.

Inquirer Reid pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes scrunched closed as he fought off a headache. Shortly thereafter he began to massage his temples, apparently needing more intense stress relief. Finally, with an exasperated sigh as though he hadn’t managed to abate the oncoming migraine, he opened his eyes and regarded Thalia wearily.

“Alright Warden, since you’re ready to get back to work why don’t you go ahead and tail those two poachers.”

“How long have you been following us?” Thalia said, voice laced with an undercurrent of wonder.

“Now, Warden. Catch up to them now before they completely escape you.” Reid snapped. “Oh and you’ll be undergoing situational awareness refresher training once you’re officially back on duty.”

Inquirer Reid pinched his nose again as Thalia whipped around to look down the street where she had last seen the Islander only to find the group rounding a corner in the distance. Inquirer Reid sighed as the Warden took off after them, deadbolt sprinting to catch up before they took another turn and she lost them completely. Eleanore felt a pang of sympathy for the Inquirer. She could only imagine what it would be like to be Thalia’s direct supervisor. She waved back at Thalia as the Warden called her goodbyes over her shoulder, leaving her alone with Reid and his men.

“Now, Miss Eleanore. Your mother is requesting your presence at home.” Reid said to her.

Eleanore, a grown woman, felt the icy knife of fear plunge into her heart at those words. It was only somewhat soothed by the warmth of her irritation at being controlled and shepherded about once again. She stalked home, forgetting to say her goodbyes to Inquirer Reid. The aged Inquirer let out a sigh and watched her go. They were close enough to the edge of the slums now she would get out without any problems, though he gestured for one of his subordinates to follow her out, just to be safe.

“I’m not sure if those two are a match made by the gods or twin furies sent to torment me.” He muttered under his breath, his remaining guard snorting with amusement.